Time for my annual end-of-year reflections and, when warranted, confessions.
Regarding the latter, I have a big one this year; one that has haunted me since I committed a crime.
Up until now, in my 62 years of life, I have remained free of police blotter entries. I attribute this to honest living and, during my college years, an excellent fake ID and the ability to appear sober while conversing with law enforcement officials.
That all changed last month when I entered a Buc-ee’s in Adairsville, Georgia, and emerged a shoplifter.
Buc-ee’s, depending on where one resides, is either a must-stop roadside travel center or an unknown entity. Despite hundreds of millions of dollars in annual revenue every year, only eight of the 50 states contain one or more Buc-ee’s. Texas, where the chain was founded in 1982, has the lion’s share. After my first visit, I remember my initial description of the chain to one of my comedian friends:
“It looks like Walmart and Old Country Buffett had a baby, and there was a complication in the delivery room.”
Get Gas And/Or Relieve Yourself at Buc-ees
OK, that’s insensitive and I have since warmed to Buc-ee’s because, damn, who can resist the wall of beef jerky or the addictive cinnamon Beaver Nuggets? And don’t get me started about the gas pumps and the bathrooms.
Now Buc-ee’s is a must-stop when I drive to visit relatives in Tennessee or Georgia. I was squiring my mom to Atlanta the day before Thanksgiving when the crime occurred. A restroom break became a shopping outing because, well, it’s Buc-ee’s.
I was on my way to the register, carrying a large fountain Dr. Pepper, the aforementioned jerky and nuggets, and a Christmas ornament featuring Buc-ee the Beaver clad in a Santa hat and riding a motorcycle. I’ll let you the reader guess which was the impulse buy.
My mother spied a rack of Buc-ee’s Christmas shirts and decided to browse. I offered to help find one in her size, but that meant first ridding my hands of my purchases. I placed the products on the floor but, for reasons I still can’t explain, shoved the ornament into my front pocket. Minutes later, my mother decided none of the shirts were to her liking. I gathered my purchases from the floor and proceeded to the register, my mom trailing me empty handed. Leaving a Buc-ee’s without purchasing anything is probably a crime itself.
Sixty miles south I felt my pocket, the stolen ornament still inside.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “I forgot to pay for this.”
If I were 10 years old, my mother would have whipped the car around, driven back to Buc-ee’s and demanded I confess to the manager. This time she said nothing. Maybe because I was driving.
“I guess I could return it after Thanksgiving,” I said. “I mean, we’ll be passing that same store.”
“I’m not going back in there,” she said. “Once was enough.”
Mom is Not a Buc-ees Fan
Not exactly a glowing endorsement but, I believe, one shared by a large chunk of the population not currently waiting in a Buc-ee’s checkout line.
Buc-ee’s I apologize. I’m not a criminal and it was never my intent to leave with holiday merchandise. Heck, I even paid for a full Dr. Pepper even though I’d consumed most of it by the time I left the store.
I’m happy to reimburse you $8.99, which I believe was the price of the ornament. I lost the receipt. Just let me know where to send it. Venmo would be even easier.
Or you could just build a Buc-ee’s in Chicago where I live; although, I’m not sure my city has space for the 100-plus gas pumps accompanying most of your stores. Any plans for a Buc-ee’s mini mart?
I will await your reply. In the meantime, please know that Buc-ee the Beaver hangs on my Christmas tree, in between the photo of my dog and the Chicago Cubs World Series ornament.
I’m not expecting anything under the tree on Dec. 25. Shoplifters always end up on the naughty list.
